During my early years – when it took only a single digit to explain my age – we lived on Madison Avenue. As I have mentioned before, the house that we lived in then is now the Longacre Bar & Grill. I have shared a few “old house” tales about that place in past columns.

I remember some of the Easter egg hunts there. Most kids desired to get up early the morning after the arrival of Santa or the Easter Bunny. I recall feeling lucky because that wasn’t a problem at our house. I’m sure my sister, Kathy, would agree.

Our dad had a daily milk route – I remember being told that milk cows did not recognize weekends or holidays – and it required him to drive out to various farms in the New Palestine area and pick up milk from dairy farmers and haul it to the Polk Milk Co. in Indianapolis to be processed and bottled for sale. This meant that he had to leave our house by 6:30 a.m. Christmas and Easter.

I remember the Easter Bunny being generous and smart. Our baskets overflowed with colored eggs and candy. What really impressed me about him was that he would hide eggs and candy outside if the weather was nice and inside if the weather was nasty. I wondered if he used the same route as Santa.

Santa always came down our chimney. In advance of his yearly visit, he would receive a letter or a visit from Kathy and myself so he knew what we wanted. The Easter Bunny knew what kind of candy we liked. He never left me any coconut candy because he knew I disliked it.

Because dad started on his route so early, he was finished by early afternoon. That allowed him to stay caught up on all of his home duties, like yard work and keeping his milk truck operational. I remember he and my maternal grandfather installing a basketball goal on the front of our garage.

That goal provided many hours of fun for me and my buddies; we all went to Edgewood Grade School or Perry Junior High. I really liked it when Dad played with us. His specialty was his underhand scoop shot.

Another one of my fond memories involved Dad reading the ongoing children’s stories in the newspaper to Kathy and me. Each afternoon he positioned himself in his favorite easy chair – with us kids comfortably on the chair’s soft arms – and read “Uncle Wiggily.” Uncle Wiggily Longears was the main character in this series by Howard R. Garis, who penned a story every day (except Sundays) for more than 30 years and published 75-plus books.

I remember sitting with Dad and listening to those stories like it was last week. When my grandsons were little I purchased an “Uncle Wiggily” book, which I still have and occasionally peek into. Maybe I should take it up to the Longacre and read myself a few stories.